


Of Wins and Losses

by bigstupidjellyfish



Series: Crimes Against Creation [6]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Hand & Finger Kink, M/M, i guess?, just bots being dudes, spec ops shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-27
Updated: 2016-08-27
Packaged: 2018-08-11 08:04:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7883206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigstupidjellyfish/pseuds/bigstupidjellyfish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Skids' superlearning skills come in handy during an extremely boring assignment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Wins and Losses

Spec Ops never failed to entertain its operatives with challenging tasks, often ordering to do impossible, work was demanding and busy, and the consequences of the actions of probably the most effective secret network within Autobot forces were affecting the war significantly.

Getaway desperately tried to cling to this line of thought as his current task consisted of laying low and not doing anything. He and Skids were ordered to occupy an abandoned facility without ever leaving the perimeter. The briefing said that the place was a dead drop accidentally discovered by autobots, and the command was highly interested in identifying the turncoat who left the intel there. Spooking the target was unacceptable because it was the one and only string to them.

Why they had to put them _both_ on this excruciating task was beyond Getaway’s comprehension. Skids suggested some scrap about testing their compatibility or something in the very first day, to which Getaway told him to go screw himself. On the fourth day, Getaway was inclined to change his initial opinion.

Have you ever imagined what it’s like - to be stuck in one room with an incredibly bored superlearner that had absolutely nothing to do? Getaway would try to crack his helm open because of just being stuck in one room.

It wasn’t like Skids was insufferable to share space with, but his boredom gnawed on him, making him swing between sulking and jittery anxiety. Getaway was out of ideas about what to suggest him on the first day. The facility was crawled back and forth by both of them on the second day. They were whining and snapping at each other on the third day. Since then it was just staring at walls with an occasional deep sigh. Well, it probably wasn’t, but it seemed so.

“Hey, Getaway.”

“No.”

“What if I tied you and you were to get out of cuffs.”

“No.”

“And when you did, I tied you again, more creatively.”

“No.”

“And again and again until you-”

“Beat you senseless?”

“Being unconscious would be great, yeah.”

“No.”

“Oh, come on!”

Getaway thought that they have repeated this conversation at least three times already.

Getaway sighed. Skids said:

“What if-”

Short beeping interrupted him, startling both agents.

“I’ll go check!” Skids leapt out of his chair before Getaway could react to the signal of one of movement detectors. Getaway shoved Skids’ handgun to him when he passed by and grinned. He set one of those to send a fake signal through irregular intervals. Skids hadn’t figured out yet.

Getaway stretched and laid back in the chair. He did quick mental check on the task and once again, he started musing on their terrible issue of boredom. He wondered how Skids with his all-devouring need for new information managed not to go completely insane. Whatever they were tasked to do together, from encrypting to combat, Skids cracked and then was telling Getaway something new about what the spy reasonably thought were his area of expertise. It was appreciated - Skids’ insight was highly valuable. Plus, Getaway liked the challenge that competing with such smartass provided. Sucker punches never worked on him twice. Getaway had to get creative.

None of that was helping them right now. Regular days must have sucked for Skids awfully.

Skids came back and slumped onto his berth.

“You are an ass,” he said to the ceiling.

“Hey, it kept you from going insane for…” Getaway looked at the time, “for almost eight hours. Took you long enough to crack it.”

“Appreciated. You’re still an ass.”

“You’re welcome.”

If only more of Getaway’s partners were so chill about being pranked.

Well, that was fun while it lasted. What now? Both sighed.

“Do those skills come in handy in regular life? Like, at all?” Getaway asked. He remembered being viciously jealous when he just learned about Skids’ outlier status, because compared to Getaway’s usual routine of clawing his way to better life from the front lines, Skids’ superlearning skills seemed to make it so damn effortless. The more they worked together, the more it was evident that Skids’ unique abilities had their downsides.

“I think my grapply hook is more handy than that,” Skids muttered.

Getaway heard the sour tone in Skids’ voice output, and sighed. He had no intention of making Skids even crankier and more self-deprecating. He was trying to do the opposite, actually.

“I dunno, I don’t think that a grapply hook can make you better at interfacing. Superlearning skills in berth? Sign me up for that,” Getaway said, keeping tone light and not serious.

Skids snorted.

“That’s the part of the issue. Once you learn everything, you gotta think how to use the grapply hook to make it not boring again.”

Getaway glanced on Skids, hearing his less sour tone and confirming that his partner was struggling not to grin. He put his hand on his chin and continued, teasing:

“I bet you have lots of kinky stories.”

To his satisfaction, Skids’ expression turned embarrassed, _slightly_ , but he finally cracked a smile on his face.

“A grapply hook was used,” Skids said sheepishly, and both burst into laughing.

The atmosphere in the room warmed; Getaway, mentally patting himself on his back, let himself relax. He wasn’t the prime example of patience, but he could deal with useless waiting much better if there wasn’t a moody outlier around.

“Now I’m curious, what’s your biggest accomplishment in that field?” Getaway asked.

Skids frowned, and for a mere second Getaway thought that he was pushing it. The thought was discarded: Getaway never passed the chance to make a jab, and Skids would tell him to go screw himself if he didn’t like what he was asked.

“I never thought about it like that,” Skids said after short pause of pondering.

“Well, you should!” Getaway pointed both index digits on Skids. “Think about all the bragging opportunities.”

The suggestion amused Skids.

“I don’t know if it would count as bragging or intimidation,” he scoffed, optics narrow, shimmering with mischief.

“Both are good. Just imagine: oh no, this is the guy who can overload you just by holding your hand!” Getaway pitched his voice, mocking imaginary gossiping. “But that’s impossible, he’s probably some Really Dangerous Bot, we better stay away from him.”

The dramatic joke wasn’t followed by laughter. Getaway glanced at Skids. The outlier sat up on the berth and, with distant, thoughtful expression, held the tip of his thumb between his lips.

“Not actually impossible, I think,” he said.

Getaway should have known better. Skids took it as challenge.

“Well, not with holding, but-” his partner continued, noticing Getaway’s disbelieving expression. “Yeah, I think I can make it work. Overloading someone by touching hand, I mean.”

He had that smug grin on his face that he got whenever he outsmarted Getaway in something.

“You’re full of scrap.”

“I’m deadly serious,” Skids said, barely containing a giggle, too amused to see Getaway crossing his arms and frowning at him. Skids almost saw his brain module overclocking as he was trying to figure out if Skids was bluffing. “Okay, that’s just a theory, but I can bet five hundred shanix I can do it.”

“Thousand on that you can’t.”

“Two thousands on that I can do it right here, right now.”

“Ha, ha, ha, say goodbye to your money,” Getaway said, stretching his arm towards Skids with obscene gesture.

Skids smiled and tugged cautiously Getaway’s hand closer to his face. Then he pressed his lips to Getaway’s palm.

Getaway wondered if it would be acceptable to take his hand back or if he should play it cool and pretend that everything was going according to plan. Skids looked determined and daring as he placed a trail of kisses onto his palm, showing that he wasn’t going to back off. There was no way Getaway wouldn’t accept the dare.

“I hope you don’t mix up "arousal” and “tickling”, partner, because I’m feeling the latter,“ Getaway said. Heated air coming from Skids’ mouth felt ticklish indeed. Skids chuckled in response, sound reverberating through plates of Getaway’s hand, and licked a stripe from his wrist to the tip of his index digit.

Getaway felt the urge to clench his hand into fist. Along with insufferable ticklish sensation he felt a jolt of electric impulses that seemed to run through his entire body, weak, but definitely there. It wasn’t unpleasant, totally the opposite of that, actually, and the way Skids looked up at him, letting the index finger slide between his lips, hinted that Skids had very good idea what he was going and what effect it was causing.

As Getaway tried to process the sensations building up in his systems, Skids tugged his hand closer and started kissing the back of his palm, brushing lips against knuckles and giving short licks in spaces between fingers. Electric jolts grew stronger as such service made the plates and seams on Getaway’s hand terribly tender, as if charged with static electricity, ready to respond to the slightest shift in electromagnetic field.

That was nice, Getaway thought, but nowhere near actual arousal.

"Should we set a timer? I’m not ready to sit here for six hours while you’re eating the paint off my hand.”

Skids scoffed, the hot breath bothered receptors above the threshold of annoying tickling. Getaway suddenly found himself craving to feel more of this. Reminding about the bet helped, if only a little.

It didn’t help him when Skids, bending and turning his wrist effortlessly, licked his index digit from the base to the tip and put it in his mouth, lips tightly wrapped around it. Getaway couldn’t tear his gaze from this sight, mesmerized to see smug expression in yellow optics as Skids worked his tongue on the knuckles and sucked his finger obscenely. Soon, too soon he let the finger slide out his mouth to take and suck another one, repeating the motions of his tongue, lips stretched in pleased grin. Getaway felt himself shivering slightly and wondered if it was because of what Skids did or because of how Skids looked.

Skids carefully, thoroughly went through all his fingers. Getaway couldn’t stop twitching them as every brush of Skids’ tongue left behind a sparkling feeling, as if receptors on his plates, sensitive by default, couldn’t handle the intensity of the impulses. The sensation accumulated and multiplied, agitating neural net throughout Getaway’s body. To his stunned realization he felt that his interface protocols reacted to such stimulation very eagerly.

It was almost comical, to struggle for controls over his own reactions to such trivial things. Yes, Getaway admitted to himself as he forced his cooling fans to increase speed defeatedly, his hands were designed to be exceptionally sensitive. He added his long standing dismissal of oral stimulation as something worth wasting time on to details he overlooked when he rushed to accept the bet.

He watched Skids turn his attention to his palm again and reflexively cupped his face as his partner lapped the plates. At contact, Skids looked up at him, with thumb between his lips, and licked the tip, stretching his mouth in a grin again. The electric impulse shot through Getaway’s body, and he moaned, surprising both of them with sudden noise.

“That was a glitch,” Getaway said immediately.

Skids grinned, and it was simply unacceptable how his lips brushed against Getaway’s palm, causing a small shiver to run through Getaway.

It was a fascinating picture, how Skids looked thoughtful as he put careful, long kisses on Getaway’s palm, ex-venting through his nose heatedly. Getaway felt being carried away by sensations, honest to himself enough to admit that he enjoyed the view and contact. He was always big on tactile stimulation, and his hand seemed to escape from under the control of his brain module as he started circling his thumb against the side of Skids’ helm. Skids noticed that and, nuzzling the palm shortly, turned his head to lick and suck the finger.

“How’s that feeling?” he asked then, catching the other finger with his lips, and for a moment Getaway was simply too stunned to answer, caught off guard by realization how he never considered that Skids could do such a thing, to him, and to look like he was enjoying that as much as Getaway. That _could_ be the prospect of winning two thousands, but in Getaway’s experience, even such nice sum usually couldn’t be a reason to make such reverent faces in the process of getting it.

“Not bad,” Getaway finally answered, not able to look away. Skids turned his attention to the back of his palm again, holding hand by fingers in delicate manner. Skids licked his lips and looked up at Getaway, as if telling him to stop bluffing, and Getaway complied: “Pretty nice, actually. Did you learn that somewhere?”

“Mhm,” Skids brushed his lips on the back of Getaway’s fingers, his breath warming them, “right here and just now,” he grinned again, optics shimmering with satisfaction, and licked the space between Getaway’s index and middle fingers. The retort about “nice” not bringing overloads was lost in whimper that escaped Getaway’s vox coder without permission.

Getaway didn’t try to make a note about glitching output again, gripping the chair handle with his free hand instead. He realized that he was sitting with thighs pressed close together for a while already, his interface equipment online and so utterly confused about the source of initialization of its protocols. Breathing out evenly, high moans at the end of each ex-vent bringing grin to Skids’ face once again, Getaway forced himself to relax and part his legs. Winding himself up more in such situation seemed dangerous.

Skids was thorough and relentless, completely immersed in his task. It didn’t escape him how Getaway had to shift his body, how his fingers twitched as Skids’ tongue brushed against the tips gently. His partner’s reactions were clear and loud to him (though, Skids admitted with smug satisfaction, could be a little _louder_ ), as if to every Skids’ action Getaway was responding: “Sucking fingers feels good”, “Your breath is tickling my palm”, “More of that, please”. He figured the case out, and now getting results was easy.

As Skids, chasing Getaway’s fingers, sucked them when he caught them with lips, Getaway shifted again. Skids was sure some rubbing on the chair was involved, but his attempt to analyze it was interrupted as Getaway, covering his optics with his free hand, whimpered:

“You’re _good_ at this.” He ex-vented hard, a puff of hot air escaping through fingers on his face. “You’re just licking my hand, and it’s _good_ , Skids.” Getaway glanced at him, light of his optics flaring, still partially covered by his hand as if he couldn’t handle direct visual contact in the moment.

Skids had to pause for a moment, letting Getaway’s finger slip out of his mouth and feeling the fingertips brushing on his face with impatience. Getaway continued staring at him, and the realness of the situation struck Skids maybe for the first time, with acute awareness that he knew in detail what to do with his partner to make him overload, and the source of that knowledge was Getaway himself.

As his brain processed this realization, Skids’ mouth continued its work. He caught the finger between his lips again, held it in his teeth gently so Getaway wouldn’t be able to ruin his precise caress with twitching, and teased with his tongue a sensitive spot on the tip, evidently full of receptors, already wound up by all his previous actions.

Getaway leaned on the back of the chair and whispered: “Fuck”, arching his body, and Skids felt the heat rushing through his systems.

The main issue of doing things that Skids has mastered was that the very process of doing things seemed rather dull and monotonous once he learned everything about them, even the pleasant stuff like interface. Right now, he found himself to be engaged in the process. Getaway’s reactions were immediate and, Skids confessed to himself, it was thrilling to hear him confirming Skids’ expectations of his responses.

“You should’ve asked for three thousands, you know,” Getaway said in strangled voice, staring somewhere before him, his thumb rubbing his partner’s cheek firmly.

Skids, caught off guard, snorted and shook with silent laughter. The pleasant warmth inside his body flared again. He noticed that Getaway was subtly turning his hand for easier access to the sweet spots, shameless in his desire for more.

As Skids mused on how Getaway would be acting during actual interface, Getaway was wondering how much he’d be wrecked if Skids applied his mouth to places that were actually designed for interfacing.

The thought was enough for his interface protocols, despite the confusion about lack of required stimulation, to initiate the overload. Getaway held his thumb against Skids’ tongue, rubbing it on the rigged surface, feeling every neural cord flaring with stunning electric pleasure, connecting through his body to his interface array.

He whimpered, crossing his legs and pressing thighs close and hard, craving for anything, any stimulation beyond the torturous feeling of Skids’ mouth so far away from where Getaway truly needed it. It felt almost like overloads in rare dreams about interface he saw in his recharge, after which he woke up dissatisfied and confused, with interface equipment cold and unresponsive, but at the same time, nothing like it at all. He was ready to snap open and demand for more, but he was already overloading without it, with his protocols, it seemed, undecided about which system to assign his release to, filling his entire being with heat, anchored to the vibration he felt from Skids humming as he sucked his finger.

The feeling wasn’t intense, almost hushed, but Getaway was still writhing and whimpering as Skids just _didn’t stop_ , seemingly set on keeping up with his teasing. Getaway tried to pull his hand away already when the lingering, drawn out pleasure seemed to have no end, flowing in sync with touches. Skids pulled his hand back, gripping his forearm tighter, looking up with strange expression. Yellow optics burned Getaway, mischief and decisiveness bright in them.

“Oh god, Skids,” Getaway ex-vented, feeling hot lips on the plates on his wrist, where the panels only partially covered the joint. The flow of the overload ceased as that place on his hand wasn’t bothered before. Skids seemed to be horribly pleased with himself as he heard Getaway’s breath fastening again and, after thoroughly going through every seam on Getaway’s wrist, turned his attention to his palm once more.

“Now you’re just showing off, aren’t you,” Getaway said as he observed Skids focusing his caresses on the place between his thumb and index finger.

Skids answered with humming, which seemed to be a “yes”, delicately grazing his teeth over the place, grinning widely. Then he kissed it, concentrated and serious, and Getaway couldn’t help imagining him doing the same on his valve. As Skids licked a stripe from the base to the tip of his index digit and then turned back to where his thumb joined with his palm, the association grew stronger, and it seemed to connect these inane stimuli to the burning heat he felt behind his interface panel. Getaway let out a low moan, the flashes of impulses going through his systems sharply.

It was weirdly obvious how Skids seemed aware of that wild picture in Getaway’s head, how he _played along_ , circling his tongue over one particularly sensitive seam as if it was a sensory node and kissing his palm with open mouth. In some background of background thoughts Getaway wondered how he didn’t leak through his closed panels yet. Somewhere there the answer was: because Skids didn’t make it his goal.

Unable to keep himself contained anymore, Getaway surrendered to the wondrous feeling of being explicitly shown what could have been happening between his legs. He pressed his palm against Skids’ face, touching his cheeks and sides of his helm, accepting that he lost the bet and now deciding on enjoying the hell out of his loss.

The second overload approached him, stronger and brighter, the previously lit up neural paths sending impulses back and forth between the terribly tender palm and his interface array. The last thing Getaway saw was Skids’ gentle smile, and then he leaned down, holding his free hand to his chestplate, flashes running through his vision, moans escaping him on sharp inhales. Skids carefully guided him through this climax, slowly tuning down the caresses, and Getaway was thankful for such courtesy, for neither keeping his touches intense and demanding, leaving him oversensitized, nor abruptly stopping and leaving him hanging and ruined.

For several seconds after overloading, Getaway stared on the floor and ex-vented heavily, not realizing he was still touching Skids’ face. When he did, though, he decided against withdrawing his hand for some reason. He sat back heavily and looked at Skids, who was quietly waiting for him to come to his senses, barely containing a grin.

“That makes four thousands,” Skids said after he judged that Getaway was good enough to talk.

Getaway cocked his head, not quite believing his audials.

“You can’t lose the same bet _twice_ ,” he retorted. Skids’ optics were lit with laughter, and Getaway couldn’t stop himself from caressing his face, wondering how the hell they even got to this point of their work together.

Skids leaned into his hand, thinking that he rather enjoyed the contact, especially with how he found himself being aroused by this activity. The remark about the lost bet was pretty mean to his taste, but he felt the urge to distract them both from discussing what they just did and from maybe escalating it.

“Okay, then three thousands,” he tried, keeping his tone playful.

Getaway turned away, placing his head on the headrest, and said quietly:

“Okay”.

Skids was alarmed by such shift in Getaway’s mood. He tried to tell himself it was understandable, that Getaway probably needed a break to internalize and process the fact that he and his partner just…. almost, not-quite interfaced. Skids felt himself being confused by it, the awkwardness creeping into his spark.

Getaway noticed Skids overclocking in panic and patted his cheek, bringing his attention to him. His guess on why Skids looked like he was scared was a solid one, and he was feeling the same. The fact that his interface array was still charged and lively wasn’t helping. The fact that he could hear Skids’ cooling fans over his own promised a disaster if they didn’t find anything to distract themselves.

For Primus’ sake, they still needed to work together. And Getaway owed Skids money now.

“Okay, that was twenty minutes spent great,” Getaway exclaimed, startling Skids. “Now,” he continued, pointing his index finger on Skids, his other hand still on his face, “we need to figure what to do next.”

Skids’ optics crossed, focusing on the accusing finger, and Getaway cursed himself for articulating his words like that. Optics darting from Getaway’s finger to his face and back, Skids licked his lips, and Getaway felt his resolve to get some sort of distraction dissipating.

“So, tell me, friend, are you ticklish?” Getaway said. It wasn’t the finest of his ideas as it was literally the first thing he could think of, but Skids suddenly looked caught off guard and immediately cornered, which screamed “yes” to Getaway.

“No,” Skids lied.

“Are you not?” Getaway leaned closer, looming over his partner. “Your abdominal plates look like they have so many sensitive seams,” he continued, stretching his hands towards Skids.

“I will kick you in the face, Getaway,” Skids tried to evade him, his face lit with a grin, and Getaway felt a little easier: the moment for escalating the situation further passed.

“So that’s a "yes”, huh?“

"No!”

That would keep them busy for at least ten minutes, Getaway thought. Then Skids would come up with something else. Then Getaway would try that fake signal prank again, knowing it wouldn’t work, and they would be bickering for a while about it.

Figuring out complicated issues could wait.


End file.
